All is Calm - Globe Soup February Micro Competition Finalist, 2025

The warm schooner deck vexes my sun-blistered back as the salt-kissed planks below groan at each imperceptible lean of a shrinking hull.

I stare listlessly at painted clouds—an endless blue sky, mirrored by a flawless ocean, void of wave or horizon.

Sixteen sunrises mark the last sprite of wind that tussled amongst the rig, yet still no sign of respite in the maddening calm of the Doldrums.

The water cask nears desiccation, but my parched lips lust for one more sip.

I await orders that never come—a stranded ship need not crew.

Upon the bow, the foresail flutters.